


i can hear the bells

by Maleficent



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: BDSM elements, Bondage, F/M, Sylvain gets topped by his loving wife and everyone liked that, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21867730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maleficent/pseuds/Maleficent
Summary: one-shot. smut. Sylvain is physically bound and teased by his wife and it's all very sexual and kinky.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Original Female Character(s), Sylvain Jose Gautier/Reader, Sylvain/Reader, sylvain gautier/reader
Kudos: 84





	i can hear the bells

“More tea, darling,” you questioned around the last sip of a spearmint blend, your attention still firmly set on the leather-bound book nestled in the lap of your skirts.

Sylvain’s voice was hoarse and choked as he moaned ‘no’.

You released a hairpin from your simple coiffure and used it to mark your place. The book, a rather dry journey through equestrian tack and care, was tossed carelessly to your right, bouncing lightly on the plush sapphire chaise you were perched on.

Still, your eyes did not meet his. You kept your gaze steady, to the windows behind him, where the mountains cradled a disappearing sun among hues of purple and orange—once it disappeared in completion, the butler would come for the china set, regardless of your husband’s wishes.

A smirk painted your lips as you finally let your eyes roam where he kneeled, shamelessly presented, in front of you.

“Why not, Sylvain,” you asked, leaning away from him, against the high back of the chaise. “You think they don’t already know what a brazen slut you are? I’m sure even the farthest corners of Sreng have heard enough!”

He bit his bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut in response to your goading tone. His small boxers tented as you giggled at him. And the muscles of his lean, tanned arms flexed against the restraints that held them to his sides. Your shameless Sylvain was a perfect picture, bathed in sunset colors, as he gave a doomed attempt at curbing his lust.

“Please don’t call for tea,” he breathed. “Won’t you allow me a chance to convince you?”

Your thighs pressed together at the eroticism of his plea, the deep timbre of his desperation, his caramel eyes darkened with want, want, want for you behind his messy fringe of red hair.

You clutched at your skirts before crooking a finger toward your chest, beckoning him forward.

Allowing him his chance.

Sylvain had no choice but to inch forward on his knees, with no support from his bound arms—he was dressed in strips of leather reins crossed against his chest, bound around his arms, and decoratively wound about his thighs, where his muscles bulged in work, fighting the restraints.

You had hoped to have him carry a bit between his lips, but (somehow) his mouth had not been large enough, so it hung around his neck, the smooth metal knocking against his clavicles with each movement toward you.

You parted your thighs as he neared to come between them, only for him to pitch forward and fall into the abundance of your skirts. The tired strain of his muscled arms and back working to right himself made you feel flushed. The apex of your thighs felt slick, your pussy pulsing and hot as he nosed close to it before successfully pulling himself up-right, his knees finding purchase.

“Hmm,” you teased, a touch shaky. “That was hardly convincing; I’d expected honeyed word or at the very least a kiss.”

He leaned forward to nose at your skirts again, purposefully this time, before straightening to address you as properly as he could manage while bound and needy for release.

“Allow me a second chance. Please,” he said, sending electric shivers up and down your spine. “Let me show you satisfaction.”

Pressing yourself fully against the back of the chaise, you raised your skirts, exposing your bare, wet pussy as you lifted and spread your shaky legs. You reached to the left of you, where the bell rested on a small, ornate table near enough to brush your fingers against the handle before guiding your attention back to your husband.

Sylvain groaned; his eyes were solely trained on your lips as you spread them to better reveal your soaking pussy. You smiled sweetly, feeling a delicious power course through you, though your want for him was just as desperate.

You gave a single crook of your finger. “Then, satisfy me.”

Like a man on the edge of starvation, Sylvain sprung forward to comply, his nose pressing against your clit again and again as he licked a broad line up the length of pussy. You gave a reedy sigh, your thighs jumping toward each other as the shock of pleasure hit you.

Your body was hot and flushed as the wet sounds of honeyed words being traced with Sylvain’s tongue grew loud in your ears. One of your hands kept your skirts at bay while the other moved to clutch at your husband’s tousled hair, your legs fluttering and mind addled with pleasure, unable to decipher what he was tracing against your pussy.

Just as your hips started to unconsciously circle against Sylvain’s face, you pressed him more firmly against your pussy, wrenching him forward by his hair. Eagerly, he took your pulsing clit against his tongue, rolling it until your legs clenched at the sides of his head and each of your breaths were punctuated with muted moans.

Your body felt completely on edge; shaky, sweaty, and wound more tightly by each movement of his practiced tongue.

You called his name and felt a moan vibrate against your slick heat as he took your clit into his mouth and sucked teasingly until your hips snapped forward and you were riding his face, practically sobbing in pleasure as you curled in around him, taunt and

almost,

almost,

almost—just a

little harder and right–there.

The glare of the sun, barely visible above the mountains, blinded you as a throaty moan announced currents of pleasure that bent your back and caused twitches and shocks of orgasm to reverberate through you over and over. Sylvain lapped at you through it all, eliciting more waves of static heat to wash over you. Panting, your limbs exhausted and heavy, you hummed in delight.

“I guess I should’ve known your filthy mouth would win in the end,” you cooed at Sylvain, his face red, wet and shining with your juices and his sweat.

Lacking grace, but not much caring, you stumbled to stand over him, skirts falling to brush against his bare thighs, and pushed him to the floor with a kick, glancing behind you to make sure he could unpin his calves from beneath himself.

You turned with a grin. His erection bobbed against the fabric of his thin boxers, a wet stain of pre-cum near the head.

He pushed up against you when you fell to your knees over him, your hand meeting his needy cock, the barrier of cloth rough against it as you squeezed. “I need you, please. I need your touch,” he rasped.

You drooled over the palm of one hand while the other released his erection, tugging his boxers down by the waist.

“I know,” you sighed tenderly, your slickened hand grabbing Sylvain’s cock.

He moaned loud over the lewd squelching of your hand job, his hips bucking up to meet your hand in an unsteady rhythm—his cock was already leaking precum as his body was wound deliciously tighter, muscles flexed against leather.

“You’re so wanton, dear. Such an eager slut,” you exclaimed, your pussy clenching, body heating again, at how shameless and undone Sylvain was becoming underneath you.

You licked your unoccupied hand.

Sylvain was teary eyed; sweat slicked body grinding frantically against your hand, his back arched off the floor.

His eyes, pupils enlarged with desire and obscured by wet curls of hair, met yours.

“Cum for me,” you said, your smile more lustful than commanding.

Pressing firmly on the underside of his cock, traveling upward, until you were squeezing and circling the head, you moved your other hand to tease and knead Sylvain’s balls. He cried out in a harsh bark at the attention, his head knocking back against the polished wood floor.

He came.

Shouting your name (and repeating “thank you, thank you, thank you, darling” in a witless mantra) he came hard. You continued to milk his cock, spurts of cum staining your skirts and dripping down your hands until he was mewling from the overstimulation.

“My, my, is it your mission to ruin all my dresses? I guess I don’t need the bell to alert the staff: just laundry,” you stilled your hands and raised them, playfully disgusted by the mess. “My sincerest apologies, Margrave Gautier.”

Sylvain chuckled through his panting breaths at the mocked curtsy you gave to accompany his title. He rolled his eyes at you, a smug smile painting his lips—his arms practically folded behind his head in spirit.

“Untie me and I’ll show just how dedicated I am to my mission,” he purred, twisting both arms against the leather reigns for show.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in slow, opened mouth kisses while your hands lazily picked at a knot of leather. “Your persistence is ever appreciated.”

Sylvain’s arms curled around your back once you’d conquered the last knot and he held you, earnest and sweet, nuzzling his face to yours; whispering adorations, that you returned in kind, in a display vastly more vulnerable than being dressed in tack and degraded could ever render him.

You both ignored the vicious oscillating knob of the locked door minutes that began minutes later.

And giggled at the knocking and disgusted huff Terant, the butler, gave before stomping (pointedly) away.

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally an answer to an ask on my tumblr and I thought I would post it here! Sylvain is really fun for this kind of scenario! I'm pretty new to writing smut, so (gentle) suggestion is welcome--my tumblr is bylethdreams! thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! I do like comments/feedback!


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